


feel the pulse quickening

by coffeeinallcaps



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, Hand Jobs, Humor, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: Bucky has just finished surreptitiously loading the washing machine and turning it on when Sam shuffles into the bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist.Bucky’s dick expresses its interest.“Hey,” Sam mumbles, yawning and scratching his cheek. “Sleep well?”“Oh,” Bucky says weakly. “Hey. Sam. Good morning.”He scurries back to his room, closes and locks the door, rests his forehead against it and feverishly jerks it to the thought of Sam’s V-cut abs.





	feel the pulse quickening

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "I wish you would write a fic where bucko learns to use his dick again. It is my ULTIMATE JAM, ok, like he's been brainwashed and on the run, nothing going on down there for decades, but! Now he's hanging around steve and sam, all huge sweaty biceps and beautiful warm smiles, and bucky's safe and happy, and what IS that nice tingly feeling, he forgot it could even do that, oh god that feels good..."

Sam and Steve like to get up at the crack of dawn to go for a run almost every morning.

Bucky, who is a normal person, does not like to get up at the crack of dawn to go for a run almost every morning.

Steve, who is not a normal person, does not understand this.

“You gotta get your exercise in, Buck,” he says a little plaintively. He’s pulling his heel to his ass, back very straight, pecs pushed out. Looking real earnest about it, too.

Punk.

“I don’t gotta do shit,” Bucky says. “Go stretch your quads someplace else and let me sleep.”

“Steve,” Sam says from the hallway. “You coming, or what?”

Sam is a moderately normal person in the sense that he likes to get up at the crack of dawn to go for a run almost every morning, but does understand that other, more normal people might prefer to spend their mornings differently. Sleeping, for example.

“Don’t drink all the milk,” Steve tells Bucky by way of goodbye.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Bucky yells after him.

He’s sprawled on the couch with a bowl of cereal in his lap when the two of them pile back into the house, dripping with sweat and visibly blissed out on endorphins.

“Every time,” Sam is saying. “Every single _goddamn time_ , Rogers.”

Steve has a smug expression on his face.

Bucky slurps milk from his bowl.

“There better be some milk left for us,” Steve tells Bucky by way of greeting.

He never used to be this obsessed with milk. The twenty-first century really brought out the worst in him.

Steve goes to extract the milk from the fridge, passing Sam the orange juice in the process. Together they demonstrate the heathen practice of drinking straight from the jug.

Bucky shakes his head and eats his cereal.

“Christ, it’s hot out there,” Steve says to no one in particular, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and his forehead on his tiny sleeve. His shirt rides up his stomach. Whoever stocked this safe house must not have gotten the memo that Steve Rogers no longer wears a size XS.

Or maybe they did.

“Natasha is coming over later, by the way,” Steve continues. “Said she has an update for us.”

“Shit,” Sam says. “What does that mean? Does it mean our government-issued vacation is coming to an end? I haven’t even finished my book yet.”

Bucky hasn’t either. He’s almost done with his crossword puzzles, though.

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.” Steve, apparently satisfied with the amount of abuse he has inflicted on the milk for the time being, returns the jug to the fridge. He takes three croissants from the breadbox, carries them along to Bucky’s couch with him and patiently waits for Bucky to make room for him, even though there are another couch and two perfectly comfortable armchairs where he could park his narrow ass instead.

Bucky groans and shifts, grudgingly tucking his legs under himself.

“Hey, thanks,” Steve says with a happy smile. He drops down next to Bucky in his tiny, soaked-through shirt. His hair is tousled and damp. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright.

A normal person would not look this relaxed and content after exerting themselves at an ungodly hour for no justifiable reason whatsoever.

Steve starts devouring his first croissant. Bucky’s just about to accuse him of getting sweat and crumbs everywhere when two things happen:

1) He catches a whiff of Steve’s smell. It’s an objective fact that Steve smells nice.

2) His stomach suddenly goes all hot and tight, and his dick twitches in his sweatpants.

Bucky almost swallows his fucking tongue.

He says, “Guh.”

Steve looks at him.

What just happened.

“I’m just gonna,” Bucky says, shoveling the last of his cereal into his mouth and making a beeline for the kitchen. Sam is standing there, buttering a bread roll with much devotion. His muscles are working under his gleaming skin. Small beads of sweat are clinging to the nape of his neck.

It’s an objective fact that Sam is extraordinarily attractive.

Sam glances over his shoulder at Bucky and smiles at him, soft and warm.

The second pulse of arousal is as sudden and startling as the first.

Bucky places his empty bowl on the counter, says, “Dibs on the bathroom,” and flees the scene faster than he fled the scene of JFK’s assassination.

He spends his entire shower suspiciously eyeing himself, half expecting his dick to twitch, but it doesn’t happen again.

 

* * *

 

It happens again.

They’re clearing the patio table after dinner. Sam leans past Bucky to pick up a dirty plate, and he smells really good, all cologne and sun-warmed skin, and Bucky’s dick goes, _Oh, hey, Sam, hi, hello_.

Bucky holds his breath.

What the actual hell is going on here.

Unlike the last time, the feeling doesn’t disappear as quickly as it arose. It lingers, buzzing restlessly under his skin. Bucky elects to ignore it.

The feeling continues to buzz.

“Hey,” Steve says later that evening, amiably bumping their shoulders together. “Bucky. You all right?”

Bucky is not all right.

“I’m fine,” he says.

There is nothing fine about this.

Steve proceeds to frown at Bucky from mere inches away, which doesn’t help matters much.

He smells great, as usual, which doesn’t help matters at all.

The feeling buzzes and buzzes.

Bucky figures a shower will help clear his head. Joke’s on him, as it turns out. He’s too damn distracted to notice he’s grabbed the wrong shower gel. It’s only when he pops open the cap, when he can smell it, that he realizes it’s Sam’s. Which is fine, probably, Sam wouldn’t mind Bucky using it; he’s nice that way, and besides, they’re on good terms with each other these days, they even joined forces to complete a particularly challenging crossword puzzle just last week, so it’s _fine_ , except.

Except now Bucky’s dick is hard.

Bucky stares at it.

His dick is hard.

He can’t remember the last time this happened.

His dick.

Is hard.

Jesus. He’d forgotten it could even do this.

No, that’s not true. He didn’t know it could still do this. Hadn’t even considered the possibility, really. Thought the ability had been beaten out of him, or burned out of his brain. Thought that, between the chemicals and the catheters…

Thought maybe they’d—

He touches it. Carefully. Doesn’t take it into his hand, not yet, just reaches down and very, very gently presses his fingertips to the head.

His dick twitches.

Bucky gasps. Spends a few more seconds staring at it, and then wraps his other hand around it in a loose fist to hold it still. Sucks in a shaky breath, and then he touches it again, massaging the tip between his thumb and his index finger.

Oh god.

Oh, god.

His eyes slide shut. Something’s building in his throat. A whine, a moan, a cry. Something. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and tightens his grip. His toes curl against the shower tiles.

 _God_ , that feels good.

He’d forgotten how good this feels.

Bucky swipes the pad of his thumb over the head. Heat is pooling and swirling in his groin, low and insistent, and it’s almost, no, it _is_ too much, he has to take a moment, has to lean against the shower wall and just. Just breathe. Just for a moment.

He starts stroking himself. Slow, gentle movements. Either instinct or muscle memory takes over, and he starts twisting his palm over the head, rubbing the underside with two fingers, rocking into his hand. His legs are trembling. They almost give out when he reaches down between his thighs to cup his balls and his fingers brush against his perineum.

Holy shit.

It all feels so, so new, and so good, so much better than he remembers it being. So much more intense, like maybe all these feelings were stored up inside him somewhere, carefully folded away. Waiting for the right moment—a safe moment—to surface again, and they’re surfacing all right.

It’s like the fucking floodgates have been opened.

 

* * *

 

The floodgates have been opened.

There’s no doubt about it.

That night, Bucky wakes up three times that he knows of, in-between vivid dreams about wet round mouths and warm gentle hands. Sam is in the dreams. Steve is in the dreams. There’s no plot, just porn. There’s Steve going down on Sam and there’s Sam going down on Steve and there’s Bucky going down on both of them at once. There’s one tonally out-of-place but particularly vivid scene in which Bucky strokes Sam’s cheek and Sam plays with Bucky’s hair. There’s Steve’s back muscles rippling as he thrusts into Sam, Sam’s fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder blades and his heels digging into Steve’s sides. There’s Steve on all fours, Sam fucking him from behind, pulling his head back to expose his deeply flushed face and throat and chest.

The first time Bucky wakes up he’s covered in sweat, his dick throbbing so hard it hurts. He bites down on his hand as he brings himself off in a few seconds flat, quick and quiet.

The second time he wakes up he’s grinding down against the bed. His body feels hot and clammy all over. He thinks he’s moaning; he’s not sure, but it’s not like it matters anyway, because it’s not like he’d be able to stop if he were. He can’t, he can’t stop, can’t stop gasping for breath, can’t stop rubbing his dick against the mattress until he comes, shuddering uncontrollably.

Well, then.

The third time he wakes up there’s a tingly feeling at the base of his spine and a fresh load of come drying on his stomach.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he whispers to himself, and goes to take a cold shower.

He ends up jerking off in the shower.

(This pattern will repeat itself every night over the next few nights.)

 

The dreams leave him exhausted and with filthy bed sheets. Bucky has just finished surreptitiously loading the washing machine and turning it on when Sam shuffles into the bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist.

Amazingly, Bucky’s dick expresses its interest.

“Hey you,” Sam mumbles, yawning and scratching his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Oh,” Bucky says weakly. “Hey, Sam. Good morning.”

He scurries back to his room, closes and locks the door, rests his forehead against it and feverishly jerks it to the thought of Sam’s V-cut abs.

After semi-ineffectively wiping himself down with wads of tissues and changing into clean underwear, Bucky goes to brew himself a much-needed cup of strong coffee. He’s staring off into the middle distance, waiting for his coffee to cool down enough to drink, when Steve wanders into the room. He’s wearing an extremely tight pair of yoga pants and an even tighter tank top. Bucky can clearly see the outline of his nipples through the fabric.

His dick gives a valiant twitch.

“Morning Buck,” Steve says with a bright smile.

“Oh,” Bucky says, weakly. “Hey, Steve. Good morning.”

He puts his cup down and scurries back to his room.

(This pattern will repeat itself every day, sometimes several times a day, over the next few days.)

 

* * *

 

Natasha Romanoff stops by again to talk with Sam and Steve. She’s wearing a black catsuit that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

When she sees Bucky, she cocks her head to the side. Squints at him like somehow she’s got him all figured out.

Bucky tries not to feel like a very small and dirty fly caught in a web.

Next to Steve, Sam is cocking his head to the side and squinting at Bucky as well.

Bucky swallows.

“It’s good to see you again, soldier,” Natasha Romanoff tells Bucky, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “That new arm looks good on you.”

Bucky privately admits defeat, excuses himself and scurries back to his room.

He’s a little worried his dick might get chafed.

 

* * *

 

The thing about Steve is that 1) he tends to run hot and 2) he has many feelings, many of which revolve around Bucky.

The thing about Bucky is that 1) he tends to run cold and 2) his dick has been having many feelings, some of which understandably yet regrettably revolve around Steve.

These things combined are a recipe for disaster in Bucky’s current predicament.

Case in point:

“Are you cold?” Steve asks.

Before Bucky has even begun to consider the question, one of Steve’s mighty arms has already descended upon his shoulders to pull him closer.

Bucky, snug against Steve’s side, says, “Uh.”

Steve’s body feels very warm and strong against his.

Bucky says, “Ah.”

Steve rubs his thumb up and down Bucky’s arm. It’s his flesh arm, unfortunately, so the friendly and platonic caress produces an extremely pleasant and decidedly non-platonic sensation in Bucky’s lower body.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bucky squirms under the heavy weight of Steve’s arm.

Steve smiles at him. “Better?”

Bucky clears his throat, says, “Eh.”

“Here,” Steve says, “hold on.” He puts his book down and reaches for the blanket that’s draped over the arm of the couch, giving it a little one-handed shake to unfold it before draping it over Bucky instead. “There you go.”

Bucky miserably settles in under the blanket. He resigns himself to staring off into the middle distance while focusing on keeping his heart rate at a situationally appropriate pace.

Steve goes back to reading his book. His thumb is still rubbing up and down Bucky’s arm.

Sam is watching them from one of the armchairs. He has a complicated expression on his face, like he’s trying to figure Bucky out and is about to succeed at it.

Disconcerting.

Steve turns a page. He’s humming under his breath.

 _What_ , Bucky mouths at Sam.

Sam shrugs, pulls a face, shakes his head and goes back to watching TV.

Feeling a vague sense of apprehension, Bucky goes back to staring off into the middle distance.

 

* * *

 

The thing about Sam is that he’s not just 1) extraordinarily attractive and nice, but also 2) very smart. Not just in a good-at-crossword-puzzles sort of way, but also, for example, in a good-at-examining-the-facts-and-drawing-a-logical-conclusion sort of way.

“Are you into Steve?” Sam asks.

“ _What_ ,” Bucky says, and then, to save face, “are you doing in my room.”

“I’ve been wondering why you’ve been acting so shifty lately,” Sam says. “I’ve narrowed it down to a few possible explanations. One of the most likely ones is that you have the hots for Steve. Is that what’s going on here?”

Bucky’s face is on fire. “No,” he says, because it’s not.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Sam says. He closes the door behind him, steps further into the room. “It’s just, you might want to try to either be slightly less conspicuous about it or buck up and make a move. Just some friendly advice from your neighborhood guy who was too chicken to tell his best friend he was in love with him before he got blown out of the sky.”

Bucky says, “Wait, what,” and then, “I’m not conspicuous.”

Sam gives him a look. “Even the most clueless person in the galaxy would eventually notice you sheepishly slinking off to your bedroom or the bathroom every time Steve so much as acknowledges your existence,” he says. “And Steve is not the most clueless person in the galaxy.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, embarrassed. He closes his eyes for a second. “This is—Steve is like my brother, okay.”

“O-kay,” Sam says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “That makes this whole situation weird and mildly concerning, Barnes.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a few seconds. Sam is still standing in his room when he opens them again.

“Look,” Sam says, “you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Honestly, we’ve all been there. I mean, this is Steve Rogers we’re talking about. Everyone’s a little in love with Steve. There was this one time when—”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says again. “I’m not in love with Steve. I just…”

Sam raises his eyebrows.

“…feel uncomfortable talking about this,” Bucky says.

This is all his dick’s fault. And Steve’s fault. And Sam’s fault. It’s definitely not Bucky’s fault that the two of them are so nice-smelling and good-looking.

“Right,” Sam says, uncrossing his arms, “yeah, sure, whatever,” and that would’ve been that, probably, if he hadn’t jokingly added, “Would you feel more comfortable talking about it in Russian? I could call Nat if you like.”

Bucky feels like his face might explode. He looks away from Sam, stares at his crossword puzzle instead. 38 down. The clue is _ignominy_. Many letters.

“Oh,” Sam says. And then, “ _Oh_.”

Bucky is feeling supremely uncomfortable.

“Oh man,” Sam says. He’s shaking his head. “Actually, that’s… Everything makes so much sense now.”

 _Mortification_ doesn’t fit. Two letters too many.

Well, we’ve definitely all been _there_.”

Really.

Bucky glances up at Sam. He says, “Really.”

“Yeah, man,” Sam says. He’s nodding vigorously now. “Hell, the first time I got a hard-on after my second tour I was tempted to throw it a welcome-back party.”

Bucky’s dick expresses great interest in Sam saying the word “hard-on”.

“Well, did you?” Bucky asks, ignoring his dick.

Sam rubs the back of his neck. Smiles. “No, I just spent a lot of time masturbating.”

Bucky’s brain briefly short-circuits at the thought. His dick elects not to be ignored.

“Kept getting all of these wet dreams, too,” Sam says in a light voice.

Bucky’s entire fucking face is about to burst into flames.

“Aw,” Sam says. He’s smiling again. “You’ve been having wet dreams about Steve, haven’t you? Is that it?”

“Not just about Steve,” Bucky says defensively.

Sam says, “Oh.”

They study each other.

Sam has beautiful eyes.

Bucky belatedly realizes the word he’s looking for is _humiliation_. He feels around for his pen.

“All right,” Sam says, in a slightly different tone of voice. “I’m curious now. What happens in those dreams of yours?”

 _You and Steve fuck in every possible way_ would be the honest answer. But there’s something about the way Sam is standing there—in his soft blue pullover, with his arms casually folded across his chest again and his head tilted to the side a little, the hint of an amused smile on his lips—that makes Bucky think it wouldn’t be the most, well, strategic answer to give. _Would you like me to show you_ would be the most strategic answer. There’s something in Sam’s body language that tells Bucky his response would either be yes or a hearty no-harm-no-foul type of laugh. Either way, it’d be fine. They’d be fine.

Bucky used to be good at this. He remembers being good at this. He remembers liking this, flirting with people.

He stops feeling around for his pen.

“I could show you what I’d like to happen,” he says. “If you’re interested.”

Sam’s biting down on his bottom lip like he’s trying not to smile. “Pretty smooth, Barnes,” he says.

Bucky used to be real smooth.

“I know,” he says. “I used to be real smooth.”

Sam cracks up. Glances over his shoulder at the closed door, then back at Bucky. “All right,” he says, taking a few steps closer to the bed Bucky is sitting on. “Yeah, I’ll humor you.”

“Oh, you’ll humor me, huh,” Bucky says, putting his crossword puzzle book away and pushing himself up onto his knees. “That’s very kind of you.”

“You know me,” Sam says. He pulls his sweater over his head, drops it to the floor. “Always prepared to take one for the team.”

He really is extraordinarily attractive. Bucky can’t help but stare.

“Jeez, Barnes, you’re gonna make me feel like you only want me for my body,” Sam deadpans as he shoves his pants down.

“And you only want me for my sparkling personality, right?” Bucky says, but he stops staring and starts taking off his sweater and shirt.

Sam grins. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I can’t remember myself saying that I wanted you in the first place.”

“Hurtful,” Bucky says. He reaches for Sam, hooking two fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs to pull him closer to the bed. There’s no time for him to get nervous or think too much about what they’re about to do here; Sam is already taking Bucky’s face between his hands and leaning down to kiss him. His lips are soft against Bucky’s. The skin of his lower back is warm under Bucky’s palms.

This is nothing like in the dreams Bucky’s been having. This is slow, and sweet, and pleasant in a completely different way. This is something Bucky wishes they could do for—for a very long time. His breath catches in his throat when Sam pulls back a little, combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Sam smiles at him, softly, and then they’re kissing again, slow and sweet.

They kiss for a very long time. The kiss becomes progressively less slow and sweet; their hands start wandering, hips grinding against each other. By the time they’re horizontal and naked and ready to break out the lotion, they’re both breathing hard already. Bucky’s lips are wet and tingling, and his jaw is starting to ache a little.

“Careful,” he says when Sam gives his dick a few strokes to slick it up. “It’s kinda sensitive at the moment.”

Sam laughs a little breathlessly. “I’m sorry,” he says. His hand is still wrapped around Bucky’s dick. “I haven’t had sex since you landed us in this whole situation either, you know.”

“We’ve collectively agreed that was a joint effort,” Bucky reminds him.

“True.” Sam presses his lips to the hollow at the base of Bucky’s throat, starts to kiss his way up. “So this is the sort of thing you’d like to see happen in those dreams of yours, huh,” he mumbles against the side of Bucky’s face.

Bucky can feel a blush spreading up his neck to his face. “Yeah,” he says. He’s feeling a little shivery. “I—yeah.”

Sam kissing his throat and neck is really doing it for him. He thinks there’s a very good chance he’ll come on the spot if Sam starts moving his hand again.

“You’re actually kind of sweet, aren’t you,” Sam says. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “I’d like to suggest something else.”

 _Anything_ , Bucky thinks. “Of course,” he says.

Sam laughs softly. “Roll over for me?”

Bucky rolls over to face away from Sam.

“Squeeze your thighs together,” Sam says from behind him. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Bucky gets a swooping feeling in his stomach when he feels the head of Sam’s dick nudge the backs of his thighs.

“Okay?” Sam asks, lips brushing against the nape of Bucky’s neck. “Can I…”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, “yes, please,” and then Sam is pushing in-between his thighs, lotion slicking the way. He wraps his hand around Bucky’s dick again before he starts thrusting shallowly, making Bucky fuck himself in his fist, and it’s. God, it feels good. The feeling of Sam’s chest pressed against his back, Sam’s hand around his dick, Sam’s breath hot against the shell of his ear—Sam’s come spilling in-between his thighs, Sam’s words pushing him over the edge of orgasm.

It feels even better than everything Bucky has felt since his dick gave its first twitch in years.

 

“Thanks for telling me why you disappeared off the face of the earth the last time Nat came over,” Sam says when they’ve both caught their breath. His voice sounds rough. He kisses Bucky’s shoulder. “And why you’ve been doing so much laundry.”

Bucky rolls over and pushes up onto one elbow to glare at Sam. “Stop it,” he says.

“And why you act so goddamn shifty every time Steve and I come back from our morning run—”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Bucky says, and kisses Sam to shut him up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Look! I wrote a thing! It's actually a 5+1 thing in disguise: 5 times Bucky reacquaints himself with his dick + 1 time he gets acquainted with Sam's.
> 
> Writing is hard, so if you enjoyed reading this, please consider making my week/month/year by leaving a comment, even if it’s "just" a ❤ or a gif or a few words! And please come hang out with me [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com).


End file.
